


Praise and Penance

by luvkurai



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: I want to say PWP but there is a bit of plot, Kink Meme, M/M, Violent Sex, Will kind of hates himself, slight dubcon, some blood, there was supposed to be some fluff but there kind of isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:45:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvkurai/pseuds/luvkurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will couldn’t possibly choose. That’s the truth of the matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Praise and Penance

**Author's Note:**

> Kink Meme: Jack fucks Will like he is a delicate teacup, Hannibal fucks Will roughly, aka Jack/Will fluff and Hannibal/Will str8 up porn
> 
> Will couldn’t possibly choose. That’s the truth of the matter.

Will couldn’t possibly choose. That’s the truth of the matter. Though he may feel differently in the heat of the moment, slicked, broad hands cupping his balls or bloody ecstasy running through his battered veins, when he sits down and thinks about it, he knows that he needs both of them.

 

The first time Agent Crawford’s fingers came swiftly from nowhere and gently pulled his glasses—his shield—from his face, Will was surprised. It was in a moment of true weakness, during which he questioned his ability to continue living a life of constantly flitting between the minds of serial killers, rapists.

“You _can_ do this,” the man said. “I believe in you.”

Glasses placed carefully on the table, Jack took one of Will’s hands in his own and just held it. He didn’t squeeze, he didn’t stroke, just held.

He didn’t buy it. Without wrenching his hand from Jack’s grip, Will laid out all the reasons that he _couldn’t_ do this, that Jack _shouldn’t_ believe in him. In response, Jack pressed his lips against the corner of his mouth. Asking for permission.

Unable to collect the confidence to speak his consent, Will closed his eyes and moved towards the other man. Jack’s hands rose to press into his hips, pulling him fractionally closer in order to deepen the kiss, mouthing against Will’s bottom lip in a not-so-subtle effort to gain access to his mouth. He readily obliged and moaned at the feeling of Jack’s tongue sliding into his mouth, pressing against his own. Carefully, Jack curled his arms around Will’s back.

Will always considered himself to be too skinny, not enough muscle to his bones, so there was something to be said for being wrapped in the broader man’s embrace. He was constantly cold, chilled by the air and the associations in his mind, so to feel warm, for once, was a beautifully wonderful thing.

 _I don’t deserve to do this,_ Will’s mind chastised. _You practically murdered those girls._

The thought sent Will flinching away from Jack’s chest, but not leaving his arms completely. Jack’s look of concern was quickly replaced by one of understanding, of acceptance.

“It’s ok,” Jack whispered, lowering him carefully to the leather couch.

 _It’s ok, it’s ok,_ Will repeated to himself like a mantra. _It’s ok._ He nodded up at Jack, allowing their eyes to meet for a long moment.

Awkwardly, Will reached for the fly of Jack’s pants with shaky fingers, in an attempt to accomplish what he believed was expected of him in this situation. To his surprise, Jack caught his fingers up in his own again, shaking his head back and forth with a sound of denial.

“No, Will,” he murmured, sitting down beside him.

“I-I don’t mi—“ Will stuttered in response, because he really didn’t mind, but Jack seemed resolute.

 _He doesn’t want to take advantage of me_ , Will realized. The thought made him press his lips up against Jack’s again, opening his mouth to breathe over soft, full lips, desperate for this to be further proven. He needed to understand why a man as smart, as accomplished, as _normal_ as Jack Crawford would give a flying-fuck about Will beyond the professional sense.

Jack’s hand brushed against Will’s clothed knee, moving up slowly until he could feel the outline of his erection there. Giving Will a moment to say no, or resist, he pushed the waistband down to his thighs, as well as Will’s boxers. Jack wrapped his hand around Will’s base and stroked up and down a few times, earning a few moans from Will.

“ _Please,_ Jack,” Will begged him for the first and last time, because Jack would never make him wait again. He nodded and Will finally undid Jack’s belt and unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down his hips a little bit too hastily. The thumb and forefinger of Jack’s free hand brushed against the nape of his neck as gently as possible, so the touch was only a feather against his skin. Will leaned into it slightly, just enough for the touch to move across his shoulder, while his own hand brushed tentatively against Jack’s bare cock. Jack continued to pump his cock, speed slowly picking up.

Suddenly Jack slowed down, looking perplexed, worried. “Will, I don’t have any lubricant…”

“S’fine…” Will mumbled without sparing a second for though. He honestly couldn’t have cared less. Cocking his head slighty, Jack considered this briefly. Finally, drawing a wallet out of the pocket of his jacket, Jack produced a condom, always carried with him—a normal thing for men to do, Will guessed. A condom had never seen the inside of Will’s wallet. Jack slid the condom down himself and glanced up at Will.

“Turn over… please…” This surprised Will, until he realized that this too was Jack trying to make Will as comfortable as possible. To have sex facing one another would mean a possibility of making eye contact. He obliged and turned over onto his stomach, spreading his legs.

They were both still fully clothed, not even shoes removed, but Will could still very clearly feel the shape and warmth of Jack’s chest when he leaned forward against him, pressing a kiss against the back of his neck, and another at his shoulder. Jack reached around and stroked up and down Will’s cock a few more times before turning his attention to his ass. Using one finger after another, he stretched Will slowly until he was sure he would cause as little pain as possible, given the circumstances.

By the time Jack pressed the head of his cock against Will, he was already shaking with arousal, with need, readily pressing back against Jack. With each shallow thrust, Jack moved farther into Will. Each push was accented by a sharp shoot of pain that brought a light sheen of tears to his eyes, followed by a pleasant stretch that Will wished would go on forever. Jack was determined to find Will’s prostrate, to push against it, but Will could feel his quickening breath on the back of his neck, becoming more uneven with each movement.

“ _Jack_ , _Jack_ ,” Will murmured because he couldn’t figure out what else he was supposed to say in a moment like that.

A hand wrapped around Will’s middle, brushing against his cock lightly. Finally, Jack reached the prostrate, that sweet spot inside him that Will wasn’t even truly aware that he had. He groaned, feeling the orgasm coming up around him like rushing water. Another thrust in the same spot and he was pushed over the edge, drowning in pleasure and wonderful, instantaneous mindlessness.

A few more sharp thrusts and Jack finished as well, pressing his forehead against Will’s shoulder and murmuring praise that Will was neither able to hear nor understand. Will could feel him struggle to hold himself up, before finally leaning against the couch’s side.

“Th-thank you…” Will whispered to him, unsure if Jack would even be able to hear him. In response, Jack pressed his lips to the space just below Will’s ear, before standing to discard the condom and get a tissue to wipe Will’s mess off the couch.

Eventually, they fell into a routine. Once or twice a week, long after everyone else had gone home, Jack would look over at Will and offer up his words of praise—“You did well today,” or “We couldn’t have done this without you.” Will would look away, face flushed, disbelieving and unsure of Jack’s sincerity—because how could he be a help when he constantly felt the inclination of murder creeping up on him like a disease? Until he’d lightly lift Will’s face up to his for a light kiss, which quickly deepened until Will found himself laid out on the couch, with Jack Crawford propping himself above him, careful to keep as much weight off Will as possible.

Jack fucks Will gently, as if he is, as Hannibal would so eloquently put it, a delicate teacup. Despite the truth of it, Will struggles to recognize the idea that there is something extraordinary about being treated in such a way, even to himself. Because Jack doesn’t _fear_ Will and that can only mean that he _isn’t_ a monster, right? When he presses against Will’s asshole, wetted by lubricant that Jack now makes sure to be prepared with for each time, hardened cock in his perfectly-tight grip, he always makes sure that Will is comfortable, never cumming unless Will has already done so. Will realizes that he is being treated like a child, but somehow he can’t bring himself to care.

In reality, whatever is going on between Jack and Will probably goes against some sort of FBI rule. It’s not a relationship, _per se_ , there’s no semblance of commitment or promise, but rather Agent Crawford looking out for Will’s wellbeing. Regardless, he has a hard time worrying about that when settling comfortably beneath Jack with the man’s cock buried inside him makes him feel so peaceful. Will can count the number of other times he has felt so palpably calm on one hand.

 

A few weeks after Will’s first time with Jack, he went to Dr. Lecter’s for dinner, to discuss some of the more recent developments in the case. Will recognized it for what it was—an attempt to extract some of the more evasive images and ideas from the disarray.

Pulling into the driveway in his battered car, images of murder, of antler-pierced women floated through his mind, as if they were memories of things he himself committed. He felt sick, the idea of eating doing nothing for him. It had been four days since the last time Jack led Will to the couch and proved he was needed and already Will was beginning to feel irrelevant, like a burden upon everyone around him with his inability to socialize like a normal person.

“Ah, William,” Hannibal said. “You’re early.”

He lowered his head in embarrassed apology. “Sorry…”

“No matter. You will just have to wait a bit for me to finish.”

It wasn’t the first time Will had been invited over to Dr. Lecter’s home. Though they generally met up in his office, Hannibal seemed to enjoy having him over for dinner from time to time, or lunch on weekends. It seemed like Hannibal was cooking all of Will’s meals these days anyways, which Will was grateful for; he was no cook and Hannibal certainly knew what he was doing.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” He asked. Will nodded in response and listened politely as Hannibal listed off all the good qualities about the wine he had chosen for their dinner, not absorbing any of it. Accepting the glass, he stood at the counter and watched Hannibal finish up their dinner, taking sips every now and then.

Neither of them spoke until Hannibal laid out the assortment of dishes on the table. Will had tried to help but was promptly waved away.

“How are things between you an Uncle Jack?” Hannibal asked halfway through the meal, making Will nearly choke on a bite of beef. He took a deep breath and swallowed.

“W-what do you mean?” He asked, and his traitorous voice practically gave him away.

“Do you really think I am so blind, Will? You two obviously are—“

“We aren’t—we aren’t… _Seeing_ each other,” Will clarified quickly, refusing to look at Hannibal. It was the truth, after all.

Hannibal laughed. “Of course not. You’re fucking.”

Despite himself, a blush crawled up Will’s neck to his face. He took another bite of food and a large gulp of wine, trying to calm himself. He and Jack had been careful, he didn’t understand how Hannibal could possibly know.

Suddenly, Hannibal reached across the corner of the table and grasped Will’s wrist, taking him completely by surprise. “Look at me, Will.”

It was the mere venom lacing his voice that made Will’s eyes snap up. What he saw there took Will completely by surprise. Closing the gap in an instant, Hannibal’s lips pressed fully against Will’s. He did not ask for permission, he did not ease into it, he simply took action, forcing Will to accept his wordless command to open his mouth, granting Hannibal access. Fingernails scratched against his neck, leaving angry, red-hot trails in their path. Teeth dipped into his bottom lip, dragging out the sharp tang of blood. Will groaned in pain as Hannibal pulled away slightly, to glance down at Will’s swollen lips.  

“Does he praise you?” The question was a purr against his mouth. “When the two of you fuck?”

Will realized, abruptly, that his entire body was shaking, from what he was not sure. It was as if the room had dropped by 10 degrees. Will nodded.

“And do you feel like you deserve it, when it is given?”

Will slowly gripped the table with his free hand, the need to look away from Hannibal overpowering his ability to think.

“N-no…” His voice was a whisper. He could no longer stop himself, breaking eye contact to hold his head in hands while he tried to stifle the unnamable emotions bubbling to the surface. “I… I don’t.”

Hannibal retained his expressionless mask, saying nothing while Will felt his insides breaking apart.

“Why?” Will made no move to answer at first, trying to calm the tremors racking through his body, like earthquakes. “Answer me.”

“It’s l-like you said… my associations horrify me. I constnatly see myself as that murderer, as a psychopath. I’m a bad person…”

Will expected no kind words of denial and Hannibal offered none. “This is what you are, William. You cannot hide it; you can only accept it and attempt to fill in the gaps it creates within you.”

Then, Hannibal backed away from Will. It had become apparent that neither of them would be finishing their supper. He stood swiftly and made to remove the plates only to have Will’s hand tentatively brush against him.

Eyes staring at the table, Will shook his head back and forth repeatedly. “No—no, I can’t—I’m not—“

Without pause, Hannibal pulled Will’s quivering form from his chair and dragged him down the hallway to his bedroom. His fingers unbuttoned his red-plaid shirt with lightning speed, slapping Will’s hands away whenever they came up. As he pushed the material off Will’s shoulder’s, he dragged his fingernails down his arms, this time drawing blood in a small line on his left arm, near his elbow.

“What are you—?” Will could not finish his question as Hannibal wove his fingers into his curly brown hair, tugging violently against it to angle his head upwards, causing his mouth to fall open in shock. The man plucked the glasses from Will’s face and put them atop his dresser, along with Will’s discarded shirt.

Then, once again without preamble, Hannibal shoved Will to his knees. Pulling his erection free, fingers pressed his head forward until Will allowed his mouth to be breached by Hannibal’s cock. The man gave him no time to adjust, pressing straight to the back of his throat, forcing Will to control his gagging reflex as best he could. Every few moments Hannibal would pull back and allow Will to breathe, but even so he could feel the beginning stages of asphyxiation taking over as his eyes fell shut in an effort to concentrate on what he was doing.

Will felt slightly faint when Hannibal pulled himself from his mouth, brought him up off the floor to sit on the bed. He was shocked to discover he too had a full-blown erection, aching. Hands pulled the pants from Will’s body, as well as his underwear and Will just _wished_ he would touch his cock or _something_ , but the man did no such thing. Instead, he crowded into Will’s space, pressing against his bare chest with one hand so Will had to scramble backwards onto the bed while Hannibal crawled over him.

Starting just above his navel, Hannibal’s teeth nipped a trail up his chest, leaving angry kiss marks that left Will with a pattern of red. Once he arrived at his neck, he bit harder and Will screamed. He drew a thin trail of blood that he lapped up at and when he moved to kiss Will again he could taste his own blood on Hannibal’s lips.

“On your stomach,” Hannibal commanded suddenly, eyes catching Will’s when they opened in surprise. He twisted Will’s arm in his hand to make him move faster. Once Will had settled on his stomach, Hannibal wrapped a muscular arm around his middle and pulled upwards, making his ass rise high into the air so Will could not even gain a bit of release by grinding himself against the mattress.

“Spit, William.” Hannibal held his hand under Will’s mouth and waited until he felt an acceptable amount of saliva drip into it. “As you’ve been with Uncle Jack, I assume I won’t need to prepare you?”

The question was said more to himself than to Will, because Will obviously had no say in the matter as Hannibal began to press his head against Will’s rim, no condom. He mewled and pressed upwards, trying to relax his body to give the man access. Ultimately, it was the force of Hannibal’s thrust that allowed him to breach the tight ring of muscle.

His thrusts in were long and hard and Will was almost completely sure that he was violently fucking into him for solely his own pleasure. Will found that he was ok with that, despite the distinct sensation of skin ripping, blood dripping. His mind screamed at him that he deserved the pain, that he is a bad person that should be punished for the horrible things that he’s capable of.

Then, Hannibal pressed against his prostate and Will’s mind went blank as a long whine dripped from his mouth. Hannibal seemed to like the sound of it because he began to press into the single spot over and over again, taking no prisoners, giving no mercy.

“Oh… _please_ , Hannibal…” He cried out when he could stop mouthing at the sheet for a moment. Hannibal promptly tugged down on his balls, barely skimming the very base of his cock, never halting his constant, raw assault on Will’s ass. Moments later, Will felt himself unravel, hot streams of cum splashing up against his stomach and onto the bed as white flashed across his vision and he gripped into the sheets. Post-coital exhaustion set in and he struggled to stay upright while Hannibal’s continued to drive deep into him.

Will hardly noticed, but Hannibal’s thrusts sped up, become sporadic as Hannibal leaned down and bit into Will’s neck, creating a burst of pain that Will did not even possess the energy to react to. Finally, he emptied himself into Will with a wordless grunt of pleasure.

Hannibal came down from his orgasm and collapsed on the bed still buried inside Will. Will felt sore, covered in bruises and marks that he would need to hide from Jack in the coming days. He felt thoroughly fucked and he realized that, for once, the voices in his head telling him that he was undeserving were silent.

 

Each man sees him differently, but Will has come to the conclusion that they are both right. He _is_ fragile, made of fine porcelain and constantly on the verge of shattering into a million pieces. But in addition, he is durable, able to take whatever Hannibal gives him. How could he not be, with a mind poisoned by the terrible thoughts of innumerable murders?

Will is hardly ever in a room with both men at the same time, but the few times are more than enough. Perhaps it is only Will that feels the open, unreadable tension, perhaps it is all in his cursed imagination, but it is all Will can do to not break into nothingness. Those moments make him feel as if worlds are colliding, and he truly does inhabit two worlds: the first, a world of forgiveness, of praise for what he attempts to be, the second, a world of penance, of punishment for what he is.

 

**Author's Note:**

> luvkurai.tumblr.com


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